The Marrying Type
by artsypolarbear
Summary: In which Clarke and Lexa get married, forget about it for 10 months, and are then brought together by an insane chain of events which results in a wonderfully messy and beautiful Clexa love story(30 chapters on ao3 some1 requested I put it on FF)
1. Chapter 1

_Of course it had to be raining. It was only natural, considering she had only just left her apartment in a rush with no time to circle back for an umbrella. And of course today had to be the day that she had slept through her alarm and was now running late, running in the rain, praying she wouldn't be late for her interview._

"So, would you describe yourself as an organized person?"

Clarke sat in a pristine white loft office, still trying to catch her breath from her mile-long sprint down to the gallery. The man sitting across from her was certainly judging her frumpy clothes and her messy wet hair which stuck to her face. The interview, which she hadn't been late for, had gone as well as Clarke could have hoped.

She thought back to her apartment. There was not a single clear space on her counters, nor on her floor, which was covered with dirty laundry and trash and god knows what - no, Clarke Griffin was certainly not an organized person.

"I would say that I am, yes, when the opportunity is given. In my work I am extremely organized." She lied, trying her best to appear as cool and collected as the slim man who was peering at her over his rectangle-shaped glasses. He was dressed in the ugliest suit Clarke had seen in her life – olive green with a 'flashy' orange paisley pattern running in stripes along it's bottom, it was almost an insult to fashion everywhere. But this was the cutting edge of art galleries in New York, and she had been lucky to even get an interview. So what if she botched it, it wasn't like she'd get it anyway.

The job on offer was literally the worst of the worst – only a little over an internship position, she knew that even if she got the job her days would consist very little of actual art-consulting and more of fetching coffee and being an office lackey for the art snobs of New York.

But she needed the money.

She _desperately_ needed the money.

The man smiled at her, a forced, toothy smile, and Clarke knew then that she wasn't getting the job.

"Thank you very much, Miss Griffin. We'll contact you as soon as we've made a decision."

He stood up as Clarke did, but did not offer his hand for her to shake. Clarke nodded and muttered a goodbye before hurrying her steps out of the office, out of the loft, and out onto the crowded streets of New York.

It wasn't until she was back at her apartment that she let the frustration get to her. She threw her bag against the wall, chucking her heels into the corner as she grumbled curses and swears.

Once she'd rid herself of the ridiculously uncomfortable blazer and pencil skirt, she fell back onto her bed, a bottle of wine in one hand and her phone in the other.

As she waited for the call to go through, she took a lont swig from her bottle.

"Clarke?"

"I botched it, Raven. Drinks?"

Clarke heard an exasperated sigh on the other end. "That's the third one this week, Clarke."

"He was wearing the ugliest suit."

"Did you fuck it up on purpose?"

"No."

"Meet me at the Ark in fifteen."

Clarke sighed as she let her phone fall down onto the bed. She glanced at the other side of the bed – it was empty, as it had been for at least two weeks now. Somehow, sleeping in an empty bed did not bother her. If anything, it gave her solace, knowing Finn wouldn't be coming back.

Finn's watch was still on the bedside table. She wondered if he'd ever come back for it.

She hoped not.

With a groan, she stood up to get herself dressed so she wouldn't be late. A button-up and jeans would do, she decided, and only bothered to touch up her makeup slightly before taking another swig from her bottle while grabbing her bag and heading out of the door.

"Alright, Griffin, two shots and then you talk."

Clarke had barely gotten into their usual booth when the barkeep had walked over with four shots and a pitcher of beer.

"No snacks?" She asked him, flashing him a smile. He rolled his eyes and went back to produce a bowl of nuts for the two of them before settling back behind the bar.

"Thank you, Lincoln." Clarke called out. She only received a halfhearted grunt in response. Lincoln was not much of a speaker, especially not when he was at work.

"Clarke."

Clarke looked at Raven and sighed. "Fine. What is it?"

"Vodka. I want you speaking, dear."

Clarke downed the first shot and grimaced as the liquid burned her mouth and throat. "You clearly cheap-assed your way tonight. What is this, petrol?"

"I'm as broke as you are, Griffin." Raven scoffed as she downed the second shot with no visible reaction from her part. "Now down that shot and then spill your guts, because you've been avoiding me for weeks."

"Fine."

The second shot went down easier. Clarke could already feel her head swimming and her tongue loosening, and cursed Raven for knowing exactly how to get her to speak.

"Finn's gone."

Raven did not appear phased. "He's always gone."

"No, he's gone for good. He left, Raven."

"That's good, right? You hated that bastard."

Clarke shrugged. "Yeah. Not too much of a fan of his side-skanks."

"I would have killed him, you know? All you had to do was ask."

"Considering you _were_ one of said side-skanks, I feel like that would have been somehow crossing the line. Besides, you gave him a proper ass-whooping already."

Raven shot her a dirty look. "I didn't know he had a girlfriend. He said he was single and visiting town for _one night_. How was I supposed to know you'd walk in in the middle of it all?"

"Best thing that happened to me all year, that's for sure." Clarke grumbled. Her friendship with Raven was complicated to say the least. She had been one of the many girls Finn had cheated on her with, but she had been the only one who hadn't known about Clarke. And when she'd found out, she had wasted no time to whoop his ass and kick him out of the apartment to console an upset Clarke.

And somehow, a beautiful friendship had emerged from that unfortunate first-time meeting.

"So he's gone."

"Yeah."

"That's good."

"Not when I can't afford the rent on my own."

Raven's expression softened. "You can always move in with me. My landlord is super lax."

Clarke sighed and rested her head against her hand. "I might have to take you up on that. I couldn't get the job today, and I can't afford my current rent with my waitressing. I might have to become a stripper."

"You wouldn't be a very good stripper."

"I know." Clarke sighed again. "I just can't seem to get a job _anywhere."_

"Maybe it's your lack of professional ability?" Raven suggested. "You're a free spirit, Clarke. Not exactly the office type."

"You'd think there were work for an artist somewhere, but no." Clarke grumbled. "Nothing for graphic design, either. My last commission was four weeks ago and that only afforded me a new pair of shoes."

"Okay, so what if you move in with me? That way you can afford the rent, and you can keep searching for a new job if you want."

"Raven your apartment is literally as big as a shoe box."

"So?"

"Where would I sleep?"

"On the floor, of course." Raven shrugged. "Nah, you can take the couch. There's room."

"He owes me money, too."

"That bitch. You want me to hunt him down?"

"No need." Clarke sighed. "I don't want to see him. Ever again."

"Why'd he leave now?"

"Apparently he got a job in California. Or perhaps he just found a new girl to fuck. Maybe a sugar mama."

"He'd love that."

"I kinda want to kill him, you know?"

"I'm sure that could be arranged."

"But I kinda just wanna forget he even exists."

"Who were we talking about again?"

* * *

The evening went along nicely enough. At some point, they were joined by Lincoln's newlywed wife, Octavia, and her brother Bellamy. A pool match ensued, which resulted in even more drinks downed and a very drunk Clarke. She had no idea how many drinks she'd had, only that her head was now adequately smashed and she had no worries in the world.

She was so drunk that when her phone suddenly rang, she did not answer it at first. She had momentarily forgotten how phones work.

"Clarke, your butt is ringing." Octavia giggled from where she was sitting on the bar.

"Booty call." Bellamy quipped, and Clarke let out a burst of laughter.

"Oh, right. Phone." She grabbed her phone and stumbled outside. She took a few deep breaths before pressing the green button and raising the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" She slurred into the phone. "Who dis?"

"Clarke Griffin?"

"Yes, who this?"

"I'm calling from the West Valley Hospital. Your wife has been in an accident."

 _My wife?_ The word struck clearly in Clarke's mind, and for a long moment, she was silent. _Wife._

"Mrs. Griffin?"

"Yes, sorry." Clarke stammered, fighting to sound as sober as she could. "I'm sorry, wife?"

"Yes, your wife has been in an accident. The legal department is requesting that you arrive as soon as possible." The woman on the other end sounded tired. Clarke wondered if she was judging her for being drunk.

She hoped not.

"I…I'll try to arrange that as soon as possible." Clarke mumbled. "I'll see to it."

She hung up then, still drunk and now extremely confused and shocked.

Wife?

She wasn't married. She checked her left hand, her ring finger, but there was no ring. She didn't remember getting married.

 _She wasn't married._

She couldn't be married…right?

But she had told the woman that she'd come see this 'wife' as soon as possible.

No, this was some sort of mix-up.

Where even was West Valley Hospital?

With a million thoughts running through her mind, Clarke stumbled back into the bar and slumped into the booth, laying her head onto the table as she tried her best to make sense of everything.

"Clarke?"

Clarke felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced up to see Raven looking at her in concern.

"What'ss wrong, Clarke?" Raven slurred as she slumped into the booth next to Clarke. "Was it Finn?"

Clarke stared at Raven, and then began laughing. Raven stared at Clarke as the blonde laughed, not knowing what to think. When it became clear that Clarke wasn't going to stop on her own, she swatted the blonde's shoulder repeatedly until she took in a deep breath and swallowed her giggles.

"What the fuck?"

"I have a wife." Clarke giggled.

"Uh, no, you don't."

"A hospital lady called." Clarke told her. "Said my wife was in an accident."

"What wife? Clarke, you're not married." Raven insisted. "What the fuck was in your drink?"

Clarke hummed and leaned back.

 _Wife._

It didn't sound so bad. If anything, the word made her heart feel warm and fuzzy and drunk.

Or maybe she was just really really drunk.

"Clarke!"

She narrowed her eyes and frowned at Raven. "Gimme paper."

She found a pen from her pocket and scribbled down a note to her sober self, pocketing it in her bra for safekeeping.

"I'm marrieeedd…." She sighed contently. "Wifey. I wonder if my wife is pretty."

"Clarke, I'm taking you home." Raven decided. "You're not married and clearly you've drank way too much."

It was a struggle to get Clarke home. In the end, it involved a lot of carrying and maneuvering by Raven and Bellamy, but twenty minutes later Clarke was comfortably settled in Raven's upstairs apartment, laying on the couch with a glass of water and an aspirin waiting for her hangover.

Clarke laid on the couch for a long moment after they'd gone back down, staring at Raven's filthy ceiling and thinking.

 _Wife_.

She had a wife.

She couldn't have a wife.

She wasn't married.

She couldn't be married. No, she certainly could not.

Clarke Griffin was definitely not the marrying type.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning Clarke awoke with a pounding headache and with the feeling that her stomach was trying to exit her body. She spilled the glass of water on the floor as she scrambled to get to the bathroom, but the toilet was already occupied by an equally as hungover Raven.

"Raven, I'm going to vomit." Clarke said hurriedly. "Either you move or I'm going to puke on you."

Raven pushed a bowl towards her and muttered a few curses. "Fuck off. Stop yelling."

Clarke threw a scowl towards her, but the next second her insides came out and she ignored everything else as she heaved everything out of her body into the bowl in her hands. Once she was done, she laid down onto the cold tiles and shut her eyes to try and ignore the throbbing pain in her head.

"God…"

"Shh…"

"What the fuck did we drink last night?" Clarke groaned. "Everything hurts. Are we even alive?"

Raven swatted at her face to try and get her to shut up. "Shush."

"My head hurts too so shush to you." Clarke muttered. "This is your fault. I'm dead because of you."

"You're the one who invited me for drinks."

"You're the one who insisted we do shots of _vodka_."

"Your fault entirely. Should've spilled your guts earlier."

"Well I'm sorry I was busy—" Clarke was interrupted as Raven heaved into the toilet again, and she crawled over to hold her hair gently. Even though she was mad at her, she still knew life was much easier to deal with when someone else was holding your hair while you spewed out your insides.

"This is still your fault."

"I'm dying, Clarke, spare me your cruel words and soothe my pained soul." Raven cried melodramatically as she flopped down onto Clarke, casting them both onto the floor.

Clarke groaned as the movement made her head spin, and for a long while, they both just laid on Raven's bathroom floor, groaning and whimpering in pain.

"I hate alcohol." Raven muttered. "I'm never drinking again."

"Ditto."

"Do you remember anything from last night?"

"I beat you in darts-"

"In your dreams, Griffin."

Clarke shook her head. "It's just blank. I can't believe I blacked out."

"You're lucky your shift starts in the evening." Raven grumbled as she used the bathtub's edge as leverage to get up. "I've got work in an hour."

"Lucky you." Clarke hummed from the floor. "Lucky me."

She shifted slightly and felt a stabbing pain in her breast. "Ow. What the fuck?"

Raven concentrated on trying to wash her face while Clarke pulled out a folded piece of paper from her bra.

"What the fuck is this?"

Raven glanced at her briefly and shrugged. "Like I care."

Clarke unfolded the piece of paper and took a long while to try and decipher what the squiggly writing even read.

 _Ur wife is hurt, she's in W. Vallley Hopsital – Clarkee_

Clarke stared at the paper, her mouth hanging open. "Raven?"

"Huh?"

"Do I have a wife?"

"No?"

"Then who the fuck was I talking about in this?" Clarke stood up, her head spinning, and shoved the piece of paper into Raven's hand.

"What the fuck…" Raven began, but then a short memory returned to her. "Oh, right. You got a phone call. A hospital lady, you said."

"A wife? I was joking, right?"

"Probably. Easy to find out, though." Raven quipped as her hand darted to Clarke's back and pulled her phone from her back pocket. Clarke grumbled and snatched her phone from Raven's hand.

Raven moved out to try and get dressed while Clarke rummaged through her phone log.

"I have a call from an unknown number." She muttered as she walked into Raven's bedroom, where the brunette was struggling to get herself into a tight pair of jeans.

"So call it back?"

"I can't, it's private."

"Maybe they'll call you again. It's probably a mistake." Raven said. Her voice was low and hoarse, and she certainly did not look ready for work. "I can't believe I have to go to work and answer idiotic questions like this." She gestured at her Apple store employee shirt and her worse for wear face. "I'm not ready to answer yet another question about charging your fucking phone with a different charger, people are such idiots, I just can't-"

"Raven, you need the money." Clarke reminded her.

"That I do." Raven grumbled. "But if I die because some _idiot_ thought his phone could withstand the rain, it's on you." She popped an aspirin into her mouth and dry swallowed it before heading to the kitchen and pouring herself a large glass of water. After she'd downed at least three of such glasses, she wiped her mouth and looked at Clarke expectantly.

"Well? Are you just going to stand there all day?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Make me your delicious eggs, you goddess." Raven said, rolling her eyes. "I'm dying and only you can save me."

Clarke's head was still pounding, but she too felt the hunger gnawing at her newly emptied stomach. She opened Raven's fridge to find that the only two things in it were a carton of eggs and a six pack of beer.

"You were prepared, weren't you?" Clarke quipped as she took the carton and began preparing her infamous eggs. It wasn't as delicious as Raven made it out to be, but any half-assed attempt at cooking was delicious compared to Raven's disastrous cooking.

Raven scarfed down a hefty amount of eggs before realizing she was going to be late and darting out of the apartment. She was already out of the door when Clarke realized her shirt was on backwards, but Clarke figured Raven would notice soon enough.

She swallowed a few painkillers herself and laid back onto the couch in hopes of catching a few more hours of sleep before she'd have to get to work.

But, of course, the universe was not going to let her have that. The instant Clarke felt herself falling asleep, her phone rang. The sound was so loud and shrill it pierced through Clarke's conscious and struck at her already hurting brain. She cried out angrily, grumbled a few curse words and then grabbed her phone, answering it with an angry bark.

"What?"

"Mrs. Griffin?"

"Who is this?"

"My name is Angelica Sternway, and I work for the legal department of West Valley Hospital."

"Why are you calling me?"

"Your wife is currently at the hospital, ma'am, and we'd like you to come here as soon as possible."

"Why is the legal department involved?"

"She was in a car crash, ma'am."

Clarke felt a moment of fear striking her chest, despite the fact that she had no idea who her supposed wife was. She wasn't supposed to feel anything about a stranger, was she?

"Are you sure your paperwork is right? I don't have a wife."

"It says right here in the documents that you, Clarke Griffin, are the legally wed wife of Alexandria Woods. You are more than welcome to come here and see them for yourself, but your presence is direly needed. Miss Woods's legal representation is soon to arrive as well, and I'm sure that they will be more than happy to arrange transportation for you."

Clarke huffed. "There's got to be a mistake. I don't have a wife."

"According to these documents that I received from the State, you do."

"I'll come there to fix this." Clarke grumbled.

"Of course. We will be waiting for you."

The phone clicked, and Clarke immediately tossed it aside in frustration.

"Who the fuck is Alexandria Woods?" She practically yelled. The sound made her head throb with another wave of pain, and she rolled to her side whilst groaning. "What the fucking shit…"

* * *

She had just finished her eight-hour shift at the diner down the street when her phone rang again. Seeing it was yet another private number, Clarke felt the sudden urge to toss her phone into a trash can and to just walk away. But she knew it was foolish, and besides – she was broke and couldn't afford a new phone.

"Clarke Griffin." She answered, trying to keep her voice as level as possible.

"Hi, yes, this is Gustus Pane from Woods Legal Services. I represent Alexandria Woods?"

"Yes?"

"And, as you're her wife, you are aware that I represent you as well?"

"What?"

"I understand there is some issue with your getting here, yes?"

Clarke could not believe what she was hearing. "Listen, I don't know what kind of sick joke this is, but I'm not married. This Alexandria…I've never met her in my life."

"The documents say otherwise, Mrs. Griffin," Gustus sighed on the other end. "If you'd be so kind as to send me the contact info of your workplace, I will take the liberty to arrange for some personal time off work so that you can come here. There are legal matters that we must discuss."

For the first time that day, Clarke found herself wondering about the person who was inevitably as much stuck in the middle of this as she was.

"How is she? Is it serious?"

She wasn't so sure why she asked. She wasn't even sure she cared. But hearing that someone had been in a car accident, well, it brings out the human in all of us. Even she couldn't be so cold as to not care about the fact that whoever this Alexandria woman was could be dying at this very moment.

"She's still in surgery." Gustus said shortly. "Send me the info."

Yet again, Clarke was hung up on. And, yet again, she felt the urge to throw her phone into the trash. But she didn't.

"Who the fuck is Alexandria Woods?" Clarke muttered to herself as she trudged through puddles back to Raven's place. "And when the fuck did I marry her?"

This had to be some kind of sick joke.


	3. Chapter 3

Raven arrived at her place later that night to find Clarke scowling at her computer, hunched over the couch like a vulture.

"Clarke, what are you doing?" Raven asked. Her bag flew to the corner as she hopped onto the couch beside her. The computer screen showed a map of something, and the bright red dot indicated the location of a hospital named West Valley.

"You're still pent up on that?"

"They called me, Raven. They want me to go there."

Raven leaned in closer and studied the map. "To Washington? What the fuck?"

"I can't believe this shit is happening." Clarke groaned, flopping her head down into her hands. "This is officially the worst hangover ever."

"What even is going on? You're not married. Are you?"

Clarke groaned again. "Apparently I am."

"To who?"

"To some woman named Alexandria Woods." Clarke grumbled. "What kind of a name is Alexandria, anyway?"

"She sounds like a prissy rich bitch." Raven offered. "You'd never marry someone like that, not unless someone was threatening you at gun point."

Clarke sighed. "I'm going to be a divorcee before I turn 25. I can't believe this. My mom is going to have a _field day_ with this. I can just imagine the Thanksgiving dinner discussion. 'Tell me again, Clarke, about the time you got married and didn't even invite me and divorced her before I got to even meet her?'"

"Are you sure you want to divorce her? What if she's like, super hot?"

"I can't even _remember_ marrying her. For all I know, it's just some legal mistake." Clarke grumbled. "And I don't care if she's the hottest woman in the universe. I'm not the marrying type."

"That's just what people say so others don't think they have a chance at a long shot with you." Raven interjected. "There's no way knowing you're not the marrying type."

"I can't even take care of myself, Raven," Clarke whined. "How am I supposed to live my life with someone else?"

"You make delicious eggs."

"I'm going to have to fly over across the country to get a divorce. This is just great."

"But if she's rich, you might get money."

To that, Clarke's eyes lit up. "That is a fair point."

"That's the spirit. You go be a gold-digging badass, Princess." Raven chuckled, nudging Clarke's side. "Now I have a very important question to ask of you. Are you ready?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you moving in?"

Clarke nodded. "I called my landlord today. I have to pay him this and last week's rent and then I'm free to live wherever I want. Even in this dump."

"So welcome to the dump, then." Raven said ceremoniously. "Would you rather celebrate with Chinese or pizza?"

Clarke thought for a moment. "Both."

"Both it is."

* * *

"Okay, so when do you think you married her?"

"When could I have?" Clarke replied. "I haven't had any significant memory losses lately, have I?"

Raven laughed. "No, you haven't. Unless you count the blackout from last night. And last week. And last month." She thought again, and waved her slice of pizza at Clarke. "Actually, I'm surprised your brain isn't any more smashed than it is. You don't treat it very well."

Clarke stole a bite from the pizza slice dangling in front of her face and grinned wildly. "I'm just that reckless."

"No but seriously. Lets think about this logically. Where in the States can you even get married on a whim?"

"Atlantic city?"

"Yeah but that takes a few days. More time to have second thoughts."

Clarke raised her eyebrows, and Raven immediately shot to add: "Not that I've tried or anything-"

"Right."

Raven's eyes widened and she almost choked on her pizza when realization struck her.

"Oh my god."

"What?"

"I think I know when and where you got married."

"Do tell."

"Vegas."

The realization struck Clarke like lightning.

 _Vegas._

They had gone there for Octavia's bachelorette party in January. They had been there for three entire days, and of those days, Clarke only recalled two. She had never thought much of it, figuring she'd just been drunk and possibly spent some time with people that she shouldn't have.

Never in a million years would she have thought she would go and marry someone.

"You disappeared!" Raven cried, now sure she had figured it out. "We thought you were just passed out somewhere but clearly, you had a way more eventful time."

"They…that can't…"

"Homegirl you got yourself a wife from Vegas," Raven laughed. "I can't believe it. Clarke Griffin, the girl who claims she hates the very institution of marriage - goes and accidentally marries someone."

Clarke shoved Raven roughly, but the girl only laughed. "Shut up."

"It's so romantic. I'm sure you spent your wedding night banging her in some classy-ass casino bathroom."

"Oh god, Raven, _please_ shut up."

"So you're going to fly across the country, and you don't even know a thing about this woman?"

"Is gay marriage even legal in Nevada?" Clarke wondered, ignoring Raven's question.

"Clarke. Get with the times. It's legal _everywhere._ "

"Well excuse me for forgetting the laws changed less than a year ago."

"I can't believe you forgot."

"I didn't. I tried to find a reason as to how the marriage couldn't be legal."

"Maybe the minister was smashed. That could call for an annulment, right?"

"Oh shut up." Clarke grumbled.

Suddenly Raven leaned across her lap and took the laptop. "I'm going to do some research."

"Stalking."

" _Research_." Raven repeated as she typed 'Alexandria Woods' into the search bar. "Oh, look, I was right. She _is_ rich."

Clarke leaned over, now intrigued, and skimmed her eyes along the titles that had been pulled up in the search.

"She's an heiress?" She wondered aloud.

"To the infamous Woods Legal Services, as well as to the family estate." Raven read aloud. "Shame there isn't a picture."

"Her parents are there, though."

Raven pulled up the picture of two grim-looking people. The woman was slim and had sharp features, as well as piercing green eyes and a frown that made Clarke's heart freeze over. She felt like she was a child again, ready to be scolded by the principal for some mindless prank she'd done.

The man in the picture was no less intimidating; he was sturdy and stood shorter than his slender wife, but his eyes were piercing as well as determined. He looked like a warrior, not a businessman, and Clarke was sure that in court he was ruthless. Both of them had brown hair and somehow Mediterranean complexions, and Clarke found herself trying to mash their features together to imagine what their daughter looked like.

"They're scary-looking." Raven commented. "Your in-laws are terrifying. I hope they won't kill you."

Clarke looked at the sites listed absent-mindedly. There was barely anything on Alexandria Woods, but when she omitted her first name and searched for her parents instead, she found a whole load of hits.

"They're adamant anti-gay protestors?" She exclaimed, not believing her eyes. "Oh, god, Raven look. They've donated money to the fucking Westboro Baptist Church."

"Oh my god what a family of dicks." Raven laughed. "I can't believe you went and gay married their daughter. They're going to be _furious_."

Clarke realized this and was now very terrified. "What do I do? Do I go? He looks like he'd snap my head off upon sight. I can't go like that, I'm too young and beautiful to die."

"Oh please, Clarke, I'm sure your lesbian lover will protect you."

"Why did the hospital call me, though? And not her parents?"

"It says here they're on a month-long cruise in the Bahamas with no connection to the outside world. Some kind of fund-raising event for awareness about the dangers of modern technology. Fuck, are they from the medieval times or something?" Raven exclaimed as her eyes skimmed over the article. "This is amazing, Clarke. You've corrupted their daughter. I seriously hope you had loads of dirty filthy lesbian sex with her on your wedding night."

Clarke rolled her eyes so hard she feared she'd hurt her brain. "Raven, shut the fuck up or I'm going to gag you with an egg roll."

"You can try but you know I can swallow those things whole." Raven quipped, turning her attention back to the computer.

Clarke's phone rang for the third time that day, and for the third time, Clarke groaned audibly as she got up to fetch it.

"It's her lawyer. Oh wait, sorry, it's _my_ lawyer." Clarke scoffed as she stepped out of the window onto the fire escape to get some privacy.

"Yes?"

"I have arranged for three weeks off from your work." Gustus informed her. "Your plane leaves from JFK at eleven tonight."

Clarke glanced at the clock and saw that it was just little past seven. "Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight. We would like to get these legal matters settled as soon as possible."

"Okay. What are the flight details?"

"It's a private jet."

Clarke's heart stopped for just one second. "A private jet?"

"Yes, naturally. I will text you the further details, but you will require some sort of identification. Try not to bring too much luggage."

"What about accommodation there?"

"You will be welcome to stay at the Miss Woods's holiday estate. It's only a short driving distance from the hospital."

"Fair enough." Clarke sighed. "I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow morning, then?"

"Yes. Safe travels, Mrs. Griffin."

Clarke stood on the fire escape, stunned, afraid she might fall were it not for the sturdy metal railing that was pressing against her stomach as she leaned against it. The cars were whizzing back and forth underneath, and she could hear the steady hum of the city in her ears. The lights never went out in New York, not completely – it was one of the reasons she had come here. Here, she wasn't stuck in the dark.

But now she felt panic in her chest, and she feared she might throw up.

A gentle hand on her back was all Raven did to tell her she was there. She did not speak, only waited patiently for Clarke to wrap her mind around everything that was going on. She understood how shocking this was. Even to her it was bizarre, and she wasn't the one caught up in the middle of this whole mess.

"She's got a private jet." Clarke finally managed to stammer. "A fucking private jet."

Raven let out a whistle and leaned against the railing beside Clarke. "Shit, that's awesome. I've never been on a private jet."

"And you think I have?"

"There's a first time for everything, right?"

Clarke sighed. "I don't want to go."

"But you have to. Clarke, you have a wife. You have to at least see her."

"Why?"

Raven shrugged. "Perhaps she's Mrs. Right."

"There's no such thing." Clarke scoffed. "Love isn't real, not for me."

"Well at least go face the woman you married in your drunken stupor and figure out how to get out of this mess. You can do that."

"I'm not sure I can. It's just so bizarre…"

"Either you get on that private jet yourself or I'll be forced to tie you up and drive you across the country. Your choice."

"Is it bad that I'd rather drive?"

"Shut up. You _have_ to go on this plane. If not for your sake, then for mine."

Clarke flashed her a tentative smile. "Fine. I'll get on the plane. But you're driving me to the airport."

"Didn't expect anything less, Princess."

* * *

So it turns out cross-country flights in commercial airplanes are an entirely different thing than flights in private jets. Upon her arrival at the airport, Clarke's luggage was promptly collected by a butler-looking man, who directed her to the small plane as though she were a celebrity. The plane was all hers; there was one stewardess, who was more than glad to provide Clarke with any food or drink she could think of. The seats reclined down into a complete bed, and after indulging in some delicious food and drink she flopped down and fell asleep.

When she woke up, she felt nourished and well rested. She did, for just one tiny moment, forget where she was and where she was going. The bed she laid in was comfortable and smelled like hotel sheets, but her bubble was shattered when she turned to her other side and saw a small oval window and _clouds_.

With a start she remembered that she was in a plane flying across the country. "Ah, fuck." She muttered. A glance at her phone told her that it was just little past 4AM in New York - 1AM in Seattle. She turned to her side to go back to sleep, but the next instant she heard footsteps and the stewardess's gentle voice, telling her they would be landing soon and that she should get into a seat for the safest landing position.

When they landed, it was around 2 in the morning in Seattle. Clarke was exhausted to say the least, and barely noticed who took her luggage or where she was going. She just followed the butler-man she'd seen in New York, and soon enough she was sat into a fancy car and they drove off into the night.

She slept most of the ride, and when she woke up she found that they had arrived at what she could only describe as a palace. Even in the dark of night, the estate she saw was huge. The house was like a fancier version of a lodge, with three stories and large floor-to-ceiling windows facing into all directions. On it's eastern side Clarke saw a lake, glimmering in the moonlight, and she wondered where she actually was. It was like she'd stepped into some sort of alternate universe where she was rich and no one scoffed at her for being who she was.

"Welcome to the Woods Lodge." The butler told her. "My name is Edwards. I will be at your service during your stay here."

"Thank you." Clarke mumbled. "Can you show me to my room?"

With a nod the butler picked up her duffel bag and she followed him into the house. It was furnished with the finest of tastes, and Clarke knew that even just one little item in the room was most likely worth more than everything she owned.

She followed the butler up winding staircases and down a few halls until they came to a halt in front of a door. The butler pushed it open for her, and Clarke entered to find just about the most comfortable looking room she'd ever seen.

Edwards left her bag next to the door and shut it carefully, leaving Clarke alone in the room.

First and foremost the room was big.

It was definitely way bigger than Clarke's entire apartment.

Near the door there was some sort of sitting area, with leather armchairs gathered around a stone fireplace. The room stretched out, and opposite the door the wall was completely of glass. Before the glass wall there was a small elevated space, where there stood a bed. The bed was large to say the least, and it faced the windows so that when Clarke went down to lay on it, she was surrounded by windows and the nature that resided right outside. The sheets were expensive to touch and to look at; they were a fine pale green, and so soft and smooth it felt to Clarke like she was laying atop a cloud.

Quickly as she could, she shed her clothes and pulled out her sleeping t-shirt. She was about to step into the hall in search of a bathroom when she noticed a second door near the fireplace. Behind it, she found a bathroom which, yet again, was huge in proportion to the fact that it was meant to be used by one person. It was of warm beige tile, and there was a Jacuzzi as well as an elaborate rain-shower. Clarke longed to use them both in that instant, but she was too exhausted for that. Instead, she quickly brushed her teeth and washed off the little makeup she'd put on before tying her hair up in a bun and heading off to bed.

 _Tomorrow,_ she thought to herself before falling asleep, _tomorrow I'll meet my wife._

She shuddered at the thought. Whether it was from anticipation or from fear, or from disgust, Clarke did not know.


	4. Chapter 4

Clarke woke up in the morning to blaring sunlight and the annoying, shrill ring of her cellphone. Thinking it was yet another lawyer or hospital personnel, she grabbed it and angrily punched the screen to accept the call.

"What?"

"How dare you fly across the country and _not_ call me when you land?"

Clarke smiled when she heard Raven's voice. "I'm sorry, Raven, I was exhausted."

"Oh, wow, I'm sure flying private is very exhausting. Where are they keeping you, a palace?"

Clarke had stood up now, and walked over to the window to properly take a look at the estate. The sun was shining outside, and she could see miles and miles of pine forest and lush green grass. To her right, she noticed the lake glimmering in the sunlight, vast and a deep cerulean blue. She wanted to paint it all.

"Pretty much."

"You're joking."

"It's this…lodge thing. In the middle of the woods, but it's so fancy. I swear, she's probably going to be the prissiest bitch I'll ever meet, because these people are loaded."

"Send me pictures?"

"Of course."

"Oh, and make sure to steal something for me."

Clarke chuckled. "Sure. Something small, though. I don't think there's anything _cheap_ within the vicinity of this house."

"Except you."

"Shut up."

"Have you met her yet?"

"No." Clarke said. "I just woke up."

"Ok, well, I gotta go to work but you get your ass to that hospital. Call me if she's hot. Or if she's a bitch. Oh fuck just call me, okay?"

Clarke laughed and hung up the phone. Raven's energy and endless joking was certainly making her feel better at the current moment. Even so, she couldn't deny that she was nervous.

How often do you get to meet your wife for the first time?

Clarke rummaged through her bag and pulled out the most reasonable-looking clothes she could find. Even so, when she emerged from the room wearing black jeans and a t-shirt, she felt out of place in the fancy lodge.

She went downstairs and was struck by how open the spaces were. The entirety of the lower floor was one big open space, which was currently filled by flowing morning sun which appeared warm despite the fact that it was well into October. Somehow the space had seemed smaller in the dark of night, but now, she came to see that the lodge had just as much free space inside as it did outside.

"Good morning, Miss Griffin."

Clarke whirled around to find Edwards standing before her. He was wearing a suit as he had been the night before, and his eyes appeared to bear no judgement whatsoever of her attire.

"I took the liberty of setting up breakfast on the patio, as the weather is absolutely marvelous today. It is relatively cold, though. Did you bring a jacket, or would you like to borrow some of the Miss's?"

Clarke gaped at him for a bit and cursed herself for forgetting that it was significantly colder up here in Washington state. "Uh, I didn't bring a warm jacket…I'd be happy to borrow one, if that's okay."

The butler nodded and gestured towards the patio door with his hand. "It's right through there. I'll bring you a jacket."

Clarke nodded a thanks and walked – no, wandered – over to the patio door and stepped outside.

The cold autumn air rushed at her bare arms, and she inhaled sharply as she felt it bite into her and make the hairs along her arms rise. Despite it's deceiving appearance, the sun provided little to no warmth to her. The pine woods began along the edge of the green that stretched out far into the field before Clarke. The garden was expertly tended to, with sandy paths running amidst bushes and pools and grass patches that were all perfectly rounded and shaped. The air smelled of pines and freshly cut grass, and Clarke inhaled deeply. She hadn't had much chances to get out into nature in New York – the closest she'd had was Central Park, and that did not even compare to the lush woods of Washington.

"Here, Miss Griffin." Edwards had come up behind her so quietly Clarke jumped at his voice, but turned to find he was holding two different jackets in his hands.

"This one is the Miss's favorite." He said, offering Clarke a surprisingly casual-appearing jacket. "I brought another in case you'd prefer this—" He lifted a peacoat in his other arm. "Whichever you'd like."

Clarke looked at the two coats for a brief second before opting for the one Edwards had offered her first. "Thank you, Edwards."

The butler nodded and made his way back inside. Clarke held the jacket in her hands and found herself wondering about it's owner. It was a dark blue bomber jacket, clearly worn out from frequent use, and as she slipped it on she thought she smelled the hint of an expensive, pleasant perfume - fruity and sharp, yet somehow not as sweet as you'd think. The jacket was more casual than she'd imagined someone as rich as these people would wear – in fact, it was almost more like something Clarke could have found in her own closet. It fit her perfectly, and warmed her right up as she walked over to the breakfast table and sat down into one of the wooden chairs.

After scarfing down a whole pile of pancakes and blueberries and bacon and eggs, Clarke returned into the house in search of Edwards. Instead of the butler, however, she ran into another man in the hall. He was tall and burly, with a finely cut beard and somehow kind eyes which peered at her curiously through round glasses.

"Miss Griffin, I presume?"

Clarke nodded slowly. "And you are?"

"Gustus. We spoke on the phone."

"Ah, yes." Clarke said, taking his outstretched hand and briefly shaking it. "Nice to meet you." _I guess_.

"Would you like to go over the legal details now?"

Clarke made a face. "Uh…sure?"

"Right this way."

Gustus led Clarke into some sort of study and sat her down before a table.

"So, what would you like to know first?"

"Why am I here?"

The man nodded. "Right to the point."

"Yeah, I'd very much like to know what's going on."

"Well, you were called here because your wife was in a car accident. She's currently recovering from surgery, and the prospect seems fine. I'll take you to the hospital once we've covered these matters."

"Why does she need legal representation?"

"Her accident was a head-on collision with another car. The other driver was dead on arrival."

Clarke gasped slightly. "Really?"

"She was also driving while under the influence. From what I understand from preliminary reports, it was her car that ran into the other, which would mean she will be charged with a DUI and manslaughter."

"Whoa." Clarke couldn't think of much to say. "Then why am I here?"

The lawyer shifted uncomfortably. "Miss Woods was declared mentally…incapable of making decisions for herself a few months ago. It is only a temporary solution, but for the time being, any medical procedure or legal decision has to be run through a next of kin. Her parents are unavailable at the moment, and she had no emergency contact so the hospital requested marital records just in case and found you."

"So I'm what, her legal guardian?"

"In theory, yes."

"I'd have to make decisions about her treatment?"

"Yes."

"That's insane." Clarke scoffed.

"You'll also have to testify in court, if it gets that far."

"What?"

"About her mental status."

"I don't even know her!"

"You're her wife. It will be seen as strange if you don't at least appear."

"I literally didn't even know I was married until the hospital called me."

"That is…unfortunate, but I'm afraid your testimony is necessary." Gustus said simply.

"This is fucked up." Clarke blurted out. "I'm sorry, but I didn't even know I had a wife. When did we get married? Is it even legal?"

Gustus rummaged through some papers. "You got married in Las Vegas, Nevada, on the 17th of January this year."

"And it's completely legal?"

"Yes, Miss Griffin, it is."

"I can't believe this."

"I'm sure once Miss Woods wakes up, we will come up with a solution to this…predicament."

"Predicament?" Clarke scoffed. "I'm going to be a divorcee before I turn 25. How is that a predicament?"

"You forget that Miss Woods will also be a divorcee before 25."

Clarke sighed. "Forgive me, I'm just really messed up in the head right now."

"I understand." Gustus said. "Would you like to go see her?"

"Is she even awake?"

"Not yet so far as I know, but perhaps seeing her will jog your memory?"

Clarke groaned and stood up.

"Perhaps."

* * *

The whole ride to the hospital Clarke felt the anxiety brew up inside her. She wasn't so sure why she was so nervous – this was just some woman, someone she'd met once and never remembered – she shouldn't have been nervous. But, as they arrived at the hospital and she was led through sterile white halls and found herself in front of a door, she realized she was extremely nervous.

"Now, she is still asleep, but she should be waking up soon enough." The nurse said as she opened the door and let Clarke in. "I'll give you some privacy. Just press the green button on the wall if you need anything, ok?"

And then the door shut behind her and Clarke found herself alone in a room with the woman who supposedly was her wife.

The instant she saw her, Clarke understood why her drunk self could have gone and married her.

 _Shit. She's a freaking goddess._

She was absolutely stunning. Even with bruises and cuts on her face and wherever Clarke could see bare skin, and having just come out of a car crash the night before, she was easily the most beautiful woman Clarke had seen in her life. Clarke could not tear her eyes off of the brown-haired beauty in the bed, and noticed how calm she looked in her sleep – she had wondered whether she would have the same piercing cold green eyes as her parents, whether she would be as scary-looking as they were – but this woman seemed to have none of their sharp, vulture-like features and harsh looks. She looked soft, with a perfectly symmetrical and constructed face with a high brow and the cutest nose, and perfectly round ears and god, Clarke couldnot stop looking at her.

But then she felt butterflies in her stomach, and the urge to hold the woman's hand, and the next thing she knew she was out of the room and looking for a bathroom.

 _No way,_ Clarke thought to herself as she locked herself into the cubicle and leaned against the wall, _there's no way that's my wife._

But she had also seen the file on the bedside table, which had read the name that had haunted her ever since she had heard it for the first – or maybe not so first – time. The butterflies had shocked her to say the least. Clarke Griffin did not get butterflies.

Clarke Griffin did not do actual long-term relationships.

Finn had been an exception, and Finn had proven to her just how right she had been about love and its' inexistence.

Clarke Griffin did not do romance. Clarke Griffin did not wish to hold hands with beautiful strangers. Not even if they were her supposed wife.

Which this woman wasn't. Not really. They were married on paper, but Clarke was sure that would be fixed soon enough.

Except now she wasn't 100% sure she wanted it to be fixed.

 _Dammit, Clarke, you came here to divorce her and you damn well are going to go through with it._

She slid down along the wall and sat down onto the floor, burying her face into her hands. She had to stop these feelings. These…flutterings in her chest and the warmth in her mind, they had to go. They were messing up her mind in ways which she refused to accept.

No, they had to go.

After a few minutes, she cleared her throat, took a few deep breaths, then stood up with shaky legs and headed back out into the hall to find her wife. She could do this – she was just admiring her looks because they were so fine, and she was an artist who enjoyed beautiful things. That was it.

When she entered the room for the second time, Clarke was glad to notice that there wasn't a flutter in her chest or butterflies in her stomach.

But had she been better acquainted with the ways of love, she would have known that the smile that spread onto her lips without her even noticing was a tell-tale sign that the flutters and butterflies hadn't just disappeared. They'd just taken different form.

Clarke now saw that the woman's chest was bound, and that her right arm was in a cast. She now wondered how injured she was; she had heard she had been in surgery, but Clarke wasn't so sure she'd been told what kind. Perhaps she'd forgotten.

"Alexandria Woods." She murmured. Clarke felt disappointed that she couldn't recognize her – not even her name said anything to her. Her mind was completely blank. The woman in the bed was no one to her, and yet, somehow, she had married her in a drunken stupor. She was looking at her wife, and yet she had no glimmer of recognition in her mind or in her heart.

She was afraid to go any closer. She wasn't sure she had the right to. Even though she was technically this woman's wife, they were strangers. She had no right to be looking at her like this, to be in her hospital room – and yet here she was, staring at her, wondering whether she'd be okay.

"Miss Woods?"

Clarke turned her head to find a doctor had entered the room.

"She's not awake yet." Clarke said, thinking the doctor had spoken to the woman in the bed.

"I know, Miss Woods." The doctor smiled. "I thought you'd like to know more about your wife's condition."

Clarke was taken aback when she realized the doctor was addressing _her_ as Miss Woods. Even the mention of 'your wife' was too much for her, but being addressed with a different last name – with _her_ last name – oh no, that was way too much. She sat down into the chair next to the bed because she suddenly felt dizzy, and received a sympathetic look from the doctor.

"I'm doctor Wells, by the way. Wells Jaha. I'd go by my last name but my father works here as well – he's the cardiothoracic surgeon – so I go by my first name. Just in case you get confused." He flashed her a shining smile, and Clarke found herself thinking he reminded her of a puppy. He seemed very young to be a doctor – no older than herself – but once he began talking about medical terms, his puppy-likeness fell away and was replaced by strict professionalism.

"Right, so your wife was involved in a car crash, as you know. The impact caused her arm to break – you can see here that there are multiple fractures to her wrist and left ulna, as well as to her left humerus. We've set the bones and put her arm in a cast, and it should heal just fine in time."

Clarke nodded and waited for the doctor to sort out his papers and scans before he continued.

"There was also a piece of metal that ran through her chest – here, you can see the X-rays – but we were able to extract it without much further damage. It punctured her pleural sac, and the surgery was long but they were able to repair it. I'm a general surgeon so I wasn't the one who operated, but I've been told there will be no future damage. She will be hospitalized for probably a week or so, and then be on strict bed rest for at least a month. She should heal completely, though."

Clarke took the X-rays and looked at them against the ceiling light like her mother had instructed her many a time. What she saw was a sharp piece of metal protruding through a chest cavity, and she noted how close it had been to the woman's heart. The realization how close the brunette beside her had come to bleeding out struck her, and she felt shock where it shouldn't have been. She shouldn't have cared about this woman's health. She was a stranger.

"Close call." She said without even realizing it.

"You're a doctor?"

"My mother is." Clarke shrugged as she handed the scans back. "I've seen plenty of x-rays."

"I see."

"Will she be waking up soon?"

"Yes, she is just sleeping now. She's off the sedatives." Dr. Wells stood up then and gave her a smile. "Your wife is in good hands, Miss Woods."

"Miss Griffin, actually." Clarke corrected him. When she saw the confusion in his eyes, she hurriedly added: "I…I kept my last name, so it's miss Griffin."

"I see. Well, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask one of the nurses to call for me. Miss Griffin."

Clarke nodded, and with that, the doctor left. She didn't know what to do then; she didn't feel like she could leave now, not so soon. She also felt pity for the woman in the bed – there were no friends, no family members outside waiting to come in to see her. She was alone, save for Clarke, and so Clarke sat back down and decided to wait until she woke up.

Maybe then she'd have some proper answers.


	5. Chapter 5

_Beep._

The first thing Lexa became conscious of was the constant beeping that seemed to penetrate her conscious and drill into her brain. It was annoying to say the least, and she wished she could get up and destroy whatever stupid machine was making the noise. It was driving her crazy.

 _Beep._

Slowly, she became more and more aware of her surroundings as she was drawn into reality. Her body felt incredibly heavy, like there was a weight pressing down onto her. Her limbs were not under her control, not yet at least - she tried to lift her arms, but there was a different weight pressing - no, all around - her left arm. It was somehow constricted, and she could not move – not much, anyway. Her mind was clouded over, too, and Lexa recognized the haziness of sedatives all too well. It was clearing, but too slow for her liking.

 _Beep._

She couldn't move. Her eyes shot open, and all she saw was blinding whiteness. She was in a white room, empty except for her bed and the window to her right, and the machine that was connected by wires that ran into her shirt and onto the patches on her chest and which was the guilty party causing the insufferable beeping noise.

 _Beep._

She turned her head, ignoring the throbbing pain in her skull, and saw she was not alone. In the chair next to her bed sat a stranger. A woman, at that. She seemed young, probably around Lexa's own age, and she was asleep; her legs were stretched out before her, and her head rested against her hand which leaned onto the arm of the chair. Lexa paid notice to her hair, and how beautifully blonde it was and how the sunlight seemed to glint off of it and make it look like pale gold. Amidst the golden locks she caught sight of a face, and for a moment, she could have sworn the beeping noise became just slightly quicker as she realized just how beautiful this woman was.

 _Beep._

She then noticed that the jacket the woman was wearing was her own. It was certainly hers, there was no doubt about it; she recognized the tear on the right sleeve that had been caused by an offending rose bush on a particularly invigorating nature walk just last week. The rush that ran through her body when she saw this beautiful woman wearing her jacket was incomprehensible to Lexa. It felt somehow…intimate, despite the fact that the blonde was a complete stranger to her.

 _I should say something_ , Lexa thought to herself _, find out why she's here. Who she is. Why am I here?_

 _Beep._

The last thing she could clearly remember was being in the lodge, sitting on the kitchen floor with a bottle of vodka – no, it had probably been whiskey, since she'd drank the vodka the week before – and then it was just hazy memories after that. She remembered getting in a car, and then there had been bright lights…and then it was just blank.

She tried to speak, but found her mouth was parched to the point where swallowing was painful. She tried to reach the glass of water on her bedside table, but found she was basically unable to move.

As though someone had read her mind, the door opened quietly and a nurse stepped in, clad in light blue scrubs and wearing an insufferably chirpy smile on her face. When she noticed Lexa was awake, her smile widened even more, proving Lexa wrong about it being impossible to smile from ear to ear.

"Good morning, sunshine." She said in a hushed voice so as to not wake the woman in the chair. "Need anything?"

"Water." Lexa croaked. The nurse smiled again and reached for the cup, which she held to Lexa's lips as she drank all of it until there wasn't a drop left.

"Thank you." Lexa sighed.

The blonde in the chair stirred, and the nurse shot Lexa a strange, knowing look. "I'll give you two some privacy."

She slipped out just as the blonde woke up, and Lexa saw now that her eyes were the brightest blue she had ever seen. Her breath hitched in her throat as the blonde's eyes met with her own, and for a long while, they were both silent, just studying one another.

Lexa was not in her right state of mind. Had she been, she never would have said what she said next.

"Are you an angel?"

She saw the blonde blush, and a smile spread onto her face when she saw that it made her features even more appealing than they'd already been.

She hadn't even thought it possible.

"No, I'm not."

Clarke studied the brunette before her. The nurse had warned her that she could be…well, a little high, because of the pain medication that she was on. That much was obvious now – though the brunette's green eyes appeared focused, fixed onto Clarke, she figured that this wasn't exactly how a sober person conducted themselves around a stranger who they find waiting at their bedside in a hospital.

"Are you sure you're not an angel?"

"Why?"

"You're very beautiful."

The blonde blushed again. She was pretty when she did that. Way too pretty. The machine began beeping faster again.

"No, I'm afraid I'm completely human."

"Then who…are you?"

The brunette's voice was slurring adorably, Clarke noted, and it was all she could do to not allow herself to smile. "I'm Clarke Griffin."

"Clarke Griffin…"

"And you're Alexandria Woods?"

"Don't call me that."

"What?"

"I don't like…my name. It's Lexa. Don't call me…Alexshandria." The brunette mumbled, her voice faltering and slurring over her own name. "Call me Lexxa…"

"Okay, Lexa it is." Clarke sighed, though a smile was tugging at her lips.

"Clarke…" Lexa giggled then, and Clarke furrowed her brows as she waited for the giggles to pass. "Isn't that a man's name?"

"It's unisex." Clarke grumbled, rolling her eyes.

"Clarke."

"Are you just going to be repeating my name?"

"Clarke. It's pretty. Rolls off my tongue like water. Clar-ke. Claarke. See?"

Clarke rolled her eyes and sighed. She wasn't going to get anything out of her, not when she was incapacitated like this. She would just have to wait for the pain medication to clear off, which could take hours.

"Clarke?"

"Huh?"

"Are you sure you're not an angel?"

"Pretty sure."

"You're pretty, you know that?"

"How about you sleep?" Clarke suggested. "We'll talk when you're more sober."

Lexa smiled and laid back against the pillows. "I like you, Clarke. Good night."

* * *

About half a day later Lexa was finally on lower levels of pain medication, and when Clarke returned from getting a late lunch in the cafeteria she found a now-sober Lexa staring at her in complete and utter confusion.

"Uh…hey?" Lexa said quietly. Her green eyes studied Clarke carefully, because she seemed somehow familiar and yet she knew she had never met this woman in her life. She couldn't recall much of what had happened earlier that day; from her perspective, she had just woken up from a particularly long sleep.

"Hey." Clarke said as she promptly walked over and took her seat in the chair next to the bed. Lexa noticed how natural this seemed to her, as though the blonde had already been in her room and sat in that chair beside her. But it couldn't be.

She didn't know who she was.

"Who are you?" Lexa asked, furrowing her brows. "You don't look like a nurse. Or a doctor."

The blonde stared at her and blinked. "You don't know?"

"No. Should I?"

"Oh thank god."

"What?"

"I'm Clarke."

"I'm Lexa."

 _Yeah, I know._

"So you're sure you don't recognize me?" Clarke asked.

"I've never met you in my life. Who are you? Why are you here?"

"Okay, this might sound crazy – actually, it is crazy – so just brace yourself, ok?"

Lexa stared at Clarke and waited, not sure what she was talking about.

"Right." Clarke took a deep breath and tried to avoid the woman's piercing green gaze. "You…and I….uh…we're kind of, sort of…married."

"What!?" Lexa cried out, unable to control her reaction. She flinched when her own voice caused her headache to worsen, and gritted her teeth to regain herself. "What the hell do you mean married?"

"As in wife and, well, wife."

"That's not possible."

"Were you in Vegas around the 17th of January this year?"

"Yeah?"

"Then it's possible."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"That's what I said when I heard."

"We're married?"

"And I'm stuck here because apparently your parents are unavailable and you're not fit to make decisions for yourself-"

Lexa flinched when Clarke said that. "Don't remind me."

"Anyway, I've been dragged here to say what they're allowed and not allowed to do."

Lexa stared at Clarke. "This is crazy."

"I know."

"I don't even know you." Lexa stammered. "I mean…I don't remember you. You'd think I'd remember getting married."

"I thought so too."

"It's October. We've been married for almost ten months."

"Ridiculous, right?"

Lexa chewed her lip and averted her eyes from the blonde, realizing now that she had been staring at her face. "Why am I in a hospital?"

Clarke's eyes shifted to Lexa's face and saw how confused the brunette was, and suddenly realized she felt pity for the brunette. "You were in a car accident."

"What?"

"Apparently you were…driving drunk and your car collided with someone else's."

"Is the other driver ok?"

Clarke was silent. That was Lexa's answer.

"Dead?"

"I'm sorry."

Tears welled up in Lexa's eyes, and she grabbed the covers to hide her face. "Damnit." She did not want to be crying, and she certainly did not want to be crying in front of this beautiful creature who was annoying and terrifying her with just her existence. But the tears pushed through, sobs racked her chest and made pain erupt in her broken ribs, and she hid her face away in hopes of keeping the little dignity she had left.

Clarke had no idea what she was supposed to do. The woman before her was crying, her thin hand gripping the sheets over her face so tightly Clarke saw her knuckles were almost as white as the fabric bunched between them. She didn't know whether she should try and comfort her, or whether she'd be rejected – in truth, she didn't even know how to comfort someone who had just found out they _killed_ someone.

So she sat there, silent, and waited until the sobs ceased and the sheet was pulled back down to reveal a tear-stricken face that still somehow managed to take Clarke's breath away.

 _Damnit, Clarke, you're going to divorce her. She's not attractive to you. She can't be._

"And they're—" Lexa began, her lip quivering as though she were about to cry again. "They're sure it was my…my fault?"

Clarke bit her lip to prevent herself from saying anything stupid. "Um…I'm not sure, actually. I can go ask, if you want."

Lexa nodded. "Please. I'd like a moment alone."

The instant the blonde had disappeared out of sight, Lexa let out a shaky breath and the tears were back. She cried silently – it was the only way she knew how – and in that instant, she felt as broken on the inside as she was on the outside.

The thought that she had killed someone made her feel like she had been the one who'd died. She wasn't even sure what she was supposed to do – she had ended a life. There was someone out there right now, missing someone who would never come back home. And it was her fault.

There was a second reason to her hurt and pain. She was terrified to the very core of her being by the blonde and what she had said.

 _Married._

She couldn't be married.

Not to a woman. It was wrong.

 _It isn't wrong,_ Lexa thought bitterly, _but father and mother will never see that. They don't see that._

With a start Lexa realized that the beautiful, angelic creature who apparently was her wife had to go. She had to go as soon as possible, immediately if she could, before her parents found out and did what they always did.

She could not protect herself, but she could protect her.

 _Clarke._

The instant she had seen Clarke she had felt pain. It wasn't because Clarke caused her pain, not at all – if anything, it was what Clarke made her feel that caused her pain. She couldn't be attracted to a woman. Not again. Never again.

It wasn't right.

It wasn't for her.

* * *

Clarke stepped out of the room and shut the door as quietly as she could. She wasn't so sure who she should ask about the accident. As her eyes ran over the waiting room, she remembered Gustus and pulled out her phone to send him a quick text for an update.

"Miss Woods?"

Clarke was surprised when she found herself answering to being addressed with Lexa's last name. She turned around to find two police officers standing before her, and her blood ran cold. Clarke had been in her fair share of troubles with the police, and even now, knowing she hadn't done anything, she panicked just a little.

"Yes?"

"We would like to discuss your wife's accident with you, if that's okay."

Clarke nodded slowly. "Okay."

She was led to a small office and sat down in an incredibly uncomfortable chair, which only added to her growing discomfort. The police officers seemed nice enough, and she even caught a smile from the younger one when the two of them sat down.

"Right, so we will get straight to the point. We're sure you're very stressed at the moment as it is."

Clarke nodded again.

"As you know, our preliminary reports stated that it was most likely your wife's car which had caused the accident, as it was in the opposite lane and she was, well...incapacitated. We're here to tell you that we were wrong."

A weight left Clarke's chest and surprised her. She hadn't known she had been worried.

"We were able to pull some video footage from a private owner which clearly shows that the other driver's car first swerved into the opposite lane and your wife tried to avoid a collision by switching over to the other lane, but the other car returned to it's own lane and thus caused the collision."

"That's...that's good news." Clarke stammered.

"And since she was the victim in this case, all charges will be dropped since she was not the perpetrator. Your wife is innocent, Miss Woods."

Clarke stood and smiled. "Thank you, officers. I will go tell her right now, it's been stressful for her, not knowing."

"Have a nice day," The younger officer said. Clarke's eyes flickered down to his chest to see that his name was Jake.

 _Dammit._ He would've been a good distraction otherwise. But there was no way Clarke would even consider seeing someone with the same name as her father. No, that was too weird.

* * *

There was a soft knock on the door, and Lexa hurriedly blinked back tears and wiped at her eyes as Clarke stepped back in.

"Hey. I have some good news."

Lexa looked at her quizzically. "Tell me we're not married."

Clarke's face fell. "I'm afraid that's still in place."

"Fuck." Lexa sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you're a great person but I can't be married to you."

"Neither can I." Clarke said, offering a gentle smile as she sat down into the chair.

 _Fuck, did she have to smile?_ Lexa groaned inwardly at the warmth that spread through her chest when she saw the blonde smile.

"Okay, so the accident wasn't your fault." Clarke told her.

A weight disappeared off of Lexa's chest and she literally gasped for air for a second as she felt relief wash over her in waves.

"Apparently there was some video footage which shows that the car steered over into your lane, you tried to avoid a collision by moving into the opposite lane, and then it went back to it's own lane and you crashed head-on."

"Oh thank god." Lexa sighed. "I mean, it's still awful that someone died, but…thank god it wasn't my fault."

Clarke sat quietly and let the information sink in.

"So what exactly happened to me?" Lexa finally asked. She wished she could ask someone else – a doctor, a nurse, someone – but the nurse from earlier had been so annoying she refused to see her again.

Clarke shifted in her chair slightly. "I can tell you. Your right arm is pretty broken, but they've set the bone and it'll be fine in a month or two. A few broken ribs, too. And there was a piece of…something, metal or whatever, that basically impaled your chest right in between your right lung and your heart. It burst your pleural sac but didn't hit your lung or anything vital, so you'll be just fine so far as I know."

"Why do you know this?" Lexa asked, perplexed as ever. "Isn't there some kind of…patient-doctor confidentiality?"

"They told me."

"Why?"

"I'm your wife."

"You're not my wife."

"At least there's one thing we can agree on. Legally, however, I am your wife and thus all the medical things have just been thrown at me." Clarke grumbled. "But apparently because of your whole 'mentally incompetent' thing, divorce is going to be fucking complicated."

Lexa cringed. She could tell Clarke wanted to know what it was about and she was definitely not ready to tell her about it. She wasn't so sure she could trust Clarke yet.

"Tell Gustus to start on it." Lexa sighed.

"He already has." Clarke sighed. "Apparently I have to live in the same state as you for at least six months before they'll even consider our case."

 _Crap._

Lexa sighed. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"If I hadn't gotten into an accident, you wouldn't have been dragged here. I know you're probably the one making my medical decisions, right?"

"Right."

"I'm sorry about that too."

"It's not like the accident was your fault."

"Still. I'm sure you have a life you'd like to get back to."

Clarke nodded. "Yeah."

The door opened and in walked Dr. Wells. His face visibly lit up when he saw Lexa was awake, and Clarke wondered how such a ray of sunshine could be in such a depressing line of work. There was a visible bounce in his step as he walked over to stand on the other side of Lexa's bed, a whole pile of papers in his hands.

"Well, Miss Woods, I am glad to see you awake."

Lexa smiled. "Thank you."

"I just came here to ask miss Woo- I mean miss Griffin about your treatment."

Clarke glanced at the brunette, expecting her to look annoyed at being discarded like so. But she only saw content acceptance, and wondered briefly whether she had been like this for a while.

"Would you like to speak outside?"

"It's fine here, I mean if you don't mind-" Clarke said, glancing at Lexa. She figured Lexa would at least want to hear what was going on with her treatment.

"No, not at all." Lexa assured her, grateful to be included in the discussion. "Go ahead."

Wells pulled up another set of x-rays and set them onto a light-board. "I'm afraid you'll be requiring another surgery, miss Woods."

"Internal bleeding?" Clarke wondered aloud, recognizing the shadow on the x-ray.

"That's right. There's some free fluid in her abdominal cavity, most likely from the impact of the crash. It's hard to predict where the fluid will gather or escape, so we've been taking scans every few hours or so to ensure we don't miss anything."

"And you want to operate?"

"Yes, as soon as possible."

"Are there risks?"

"I'll be going in laparoscopically. It's a minimally invasive procedure, and shouldn't take very long. Very few risks involved, aside from the usual risks involved with general anesthesia."

Lexa listened to the hushed conversation, left out as ever, and cursed her parents once again. She wanted nothing more to be in control of her own life, but that chance had been stripped away from her, leaving her vulnerable and feeling like nothing more than her parents' playtoy.

* * *

 _Lexa walked into her parents' study with a wary expression on her face. Her parents were not sitting down as she had expected; they were standing in the middle of the room, their faces stony and stoic, and in that instant panic rose up in Lexa's chest and she wanted nothing more than to run away._

 _But she did not run away. Instead, she directed her feet calmly to where her parents stood, and met their eyes with matching coldness within her own._ _Theirs was real. Hers was fake. But there was no_ _real_ _difference._ _It was all just cold._

 _"You called?"_

 _"Yes, dear. Do take a seat."_

 _They sat down onto the luxurious leather seats, and Lexa forced herself to concentrate on her breathing and keeping her posture perfect as she eyed her parents carefully._

 _"It has come to our attention that you have given in to your…_ _urges_ _again."_

 _Lexa's heart sank. How could they know? She hadn't spoken of her to anyone. She hadn't seen her since that night, not once. The only one who knew was herself…and her._

 _Of course. They had done this before. How could she have_ _forgotten?_

 _"I see."_

 _"Do you deny it?"_

 _Lexa wanted to say yes. But she knew better than that._ _If they were asking, it meant they already knew the truth._ _They always knew the truth._

 _"No."_

 _The disappointment and anger was obvious in both her parents' eyes_ _, but in their eyes alone – nothing in their countenance or posture gave away the fact that they were furious at her_ _._ _It never did. Lexa was not worthy of their emotions._

 _"It is clear that you cannot control these urges. You understand that it is a sickness, yes?"_

 _"Yes." Lexa said without any emotion in her voice_ _, monotonically like a robot would. But_ _her heart screamed_ _in protest within her chest; she could practically feel it banging against her ribcage, trying to tell her that this was wrong, that they were wrong – but she pushed it down and ignored it_ _. Her voice_ _may have been_ _calm, but her mind was not – it was racking up a storm, but she kept it contained like she always did._

 _"We are sorry that we have to do this, Alexandria."_

 ** _Alexandria._**

 _The name lashed at Lexa like a whip, and she flinched ever so slightly._ _She wished it hadn't been seen, but of course it had – she saw her father's brows furrow, and knew what words would come next._

 _"You are not weak,_ _Alexandria_ _. You will not cower_ _."_

 _Lexa nodded and dug her nails into her palm behind the cushion as she met her father's eyes. "Yes, father."_

 _"It is an illness, Alexandria, to desire your own sex. You know this; we have told you this over and over again, and yet you defy us. We understand now what we have been doing wrong."_

 ** _You do?_**

 _"We have been giving you too much freedom. You're sick, Alexandria. We will heal you."_

 ** _No._**

 _"We are now responsible for you and your health, Alexandria. You will come live with us. In time, your urges will pass. You will learn to ignore your demons."_

 ** _How can I ignore my demons when they're sitting right in front of me?_**


End file.
